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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520275">you'd wash your hands of them (but blood's always thicker)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopeblossom/pseuds/penelopeblossom'>penelopeblossom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Halice - Freeform, Riverparents, and breaking the cycle, and that's all i have for now thank you, as usual there will be some blossomisms, blossom/cooper family bonding, don't at me, essentially a story of growth, hurt/comfort themes, nothing gets past alice cooper, one rekindled friendship and one that will eventually....blossom, parentdale, the mortifying ordeal of having to put a maple syrup blood feud behind you, there will be lots of character development</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:07:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/penelopeblossom/pseuds/penelopeblossom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alice suspects there might be more to the Thornhill fire after her offer to help Penelope and Cheryl is unceremoniously rebuffed by the younger Blossom.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alice Cooper/Hal Cooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cooper House— Friday, October 20th, 2017</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bewareoftrips/gifts">bewareoftrips</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A very belated birthday present for my dearest wife, Kim. Takes place outside of canon-verse, in a timeline where the Penelope/Alice hospital scene from 2x01 hadn't been deleted. No connection to my previous fic. Written with lots of love!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m telling you, Hal, something wasn’t right there,” Alice insists as she furiously scrubs away at her dinner plate with a soapy sponge, bubbles and foam spilling into the sink. “I could feel it.”</p><p>Hal sits at the kitchen counter, eyes attentively scanning a draft of Sunday’s front page story. Between the shooting at Pop’s and the fire at Thornhill, the Riverdale Register had seen no shortage of reportable news in the past six days, and their readers were just eating up the coverage. Of course, this meant that quiet family dinners at home had been replaced with late nights at the office and multiple coffee runs to Pop’s, but soon enough, like with all small town news, the public interest would begin to dwindle-- and so it was crucial they milk these stories for all they were worth while they were still hot.</p><p>“Are you even listening to me?”</p><p>Hal looks up from his laptop to find his wife staring back at him, the knuckles of her one hand pressed firmly against her hip and that signature shade of mild annoyance she typically reserves for her friends and family gracing every single one of her features.</p><p>“Alice, I’m sure everything’s fine,” he assures. “Since when do you care about the Blossoms, anyway? When you said you were going to visit Penelope the other day at the hospital, I thought you were trying to finish the job the fire started. I had half a mind to stop you.” </p><p>Alice rolls her eyes. Cute as he thought he was being, this wasn’t a laughing matter. “Whether you or I like it or not, she and Cheryl are family now, Hal. They always have been. Besides, you weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw.” She turns back around to finish rinsing off one final plate before setting it aside to dry and removing her gloves.</p><p>“And what exactly was it you saw?” Hal asks, cocking an eyebrow. It was always best to indulge Alice when it came to these types of things. Once she had her mind made up about about something, there was no dissuading her. All one could do was ride the idea out until she finally grew bored of it and eventually moved on to another one.</p><p>“Penelope was trying to communicate something to me. She woke up as Cheryl and I were talking, but for some reason Cheryl kept trying to silence her...almost as if she was afraid Penelope might say something she shouldn’t,” Alice’s voice trails off as she carefully considers her words. Then, as if flipping a switch, she reverts to her usual, upbeat tone. “Not even a minute later she was practically pushing me out the door!”</p><p>She walks over to the kitchen island but doesn’t take a seat. Instead, she places both of her hands on the edge of the marble countertop and fixes Hal with a look. Never a good sign.</p><p>“What?” he asks, already dreading her response. </p><p>“A little birdie informed me earlier that Penelope was released from the hospital this morning. She and Cheryl have moved into a small cottage on the Blossom estate. Thistle House, I believe it’s called. I say we go over there tomorrow and find out what it was she was trying to say.”</p><p>“We?”</p><p>Alice crosses her arms tightly over her chest, “Yes, <i>we</i>! In case you forgot, this is <i>your</i> family.” The offense in her tone is as evident as the fact that she is not going to let this go.</p><p>“Well I’m pretty sure Penelope despises me, so if you want to march over to that cottage tomorrow and play detective, then be my guest, but you can count me out of it.” Hal turns his gaze back to the laptop in front of him in the hopes that Alice will just let the matter go and agree to embark on this pointless endeavor alone. He had no desire to revisit that gothic nightmare of an estate, nor did he see any legitimate reason to. Who cared if the Blossoms were hiding something? Weren’t they always?</p><p>Alice narrows her eyes at him. “What ever happened between the two of you, anyway?” she asks. “You used to be the best of friends. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that she was your date to every school dance until you and I got together.”</p><p>Hal lets out an exasperated sigh, “Alice, I just want to finish revising this draft.” Truth be told, the draft could wait another day, but the last thing Hal wanted to get into right now was age-old high school drama. The day had been long and tiring enough as it was.</p><p>“Fine,” Alice finally relents. “But this isn’t over.” </p><p>She rounds the island corner and heads upstairs, her heels clicking furiously against the wooden floor. Hal waits until the sound of them finally fades away before shutting his laptop closed and burying his face in his hands. </p><p>
  <i>No, of course it wasn’t.</i>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Thistle House— Saturday, October 21st, 2017</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alice and Hal pay Penelope a visit.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Still setting up the story...I promise the next chapter will be more interesting. Hopefully.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Hal sighs as he steps out of the station wagon and takes in the overgrown, 19th century horror before him. Where Thornhill had been a gothic amalgam of brick and stone, Thistle House– overtaken with sprawling tree roots and tenacious vines– had managed to exude an even eerier aura courtesy of its neglected, seemingly abandoned appearance. “This is the stuff of fairy tales,” he adds, spotting a moss-covered statue in the corner. “Fairy tales like Hansel and Gretel.” </p><p>Alice smoothes out the fabric of her pants before locking the car and linking arms with her husband. “Don’t be so dramatic, Hal. Had you been raised a Blossom, you would have found this exhibit of romantic decrepitude to be charming.” </p><p>Hal rolls his eyes, “I just don’t see why you needed to bring me along with you.”</p><p>“Because,” Alice starts as they make their way up the driveway, “we need to present a united front. Penelope and Cheryl are family now, and if we’re going to put this maple syrup blood feud behind us, then an effort will have to be made on all of our parts. Or do you want our grandbabies growing up in a conflict-riddled family?”</p><p>“Of course I don’t.”</p><p>“Then it’s settled,” Alice says, turning to face him once they’ve reached the door. “Now remember what we discussed earlier— neither of us is going <i>anywhere</i> until we’ve spoken to Penelope. No matter how much Cheryl insists, we are staying put until we’ve gotten what we came for. Even if the little spitfire tries to slam the door in our faces, we are barreling in. Got it?”</p><p>“Got it,” Hal assures her half-heartedly. There was no use in arguing with her now that they were already here. Still, a part of him prayed he’d get lucky and that no one would answer the door. There would be nothing they could do, then. Surely, Alice wouldn’t suggest they break in through a window. </p><p>“Good,” she replies, satisfied. “And one last thing— try not to stare at the scars.”</p><p>Hal nods. </p><p>Taking a deep breath and preparing herself for another unceremonious dismissal, Alice knocks thrice on the wooden door and anxiously awaits a response. She notes the lack of a peephole, something that might actually work in their favor, and begins to silently rehearse the lines she had planned to feed Cheryl the night before. </p><p>When the door finally creaks open about a minute later, her jaw falls slack. </p><p>“Penelope,” she blurts out, unable to mask the surprise in her voice. She had been so certain that Cheryl would be the one to answer the door that she hadn’t even considered how she would approach any other scenario. </p><p>The Blossom woman eyes her suspiciously, “Alice Cooper.” Hal coughs awkwardly, alerting her to his presence. “What is this about?” </p><p>“We just wanted to drop by and see how you were doing,” Alice smiles, collecting her thoughts. “May we come in?”</p><p>Penelope looks hesitantly between Alice and Hal before finally opening the door all the way. She motions for them to step inside, then locks the door behind her.</p><p>Alice and Hal follow her into the living room where they’re instructed to take a seat anywhere that suits them. Alice takes her spot opposite Penelope on the red velvet coach while Hal opts to maintain a comfortable distance in an armchair across from them. </p><p>Thistle House is considerably smaller than Thornhill and, yet, somehow, much draftier. Upon taking in her surroundings, Alice notes that the fireplace isn’t on— a bit unusual for this time of year, but perhaps, after the fire, the Blossoms were being cautious. The cottage did at least seem to allow for more natural light than the old manor had, though the decor left something to be desired. Thick, velvet upholstery, lion statues, and the array of morbid Fuselis and Caravaggios adorning the walls didn’t exactly scream “home sweet home”. Still, the lack of stained glass doors and excessive dark wood paneling was a welcome change.</p><p>“So,” Alice pipes up, breaking the silence, “how have you been?”</p><p>Penelope eyes her warily. The last time Alice and Hal had barged into her home it was in the middle of the night, to rip their daughter and her babies away from her as well as to accuse her and her family of the most vile things. It hadn’t been very long since then, either, which left Penelope with no other choice but to suspect that there was an ulterior motive for their visit. After all, since when had either of the Coopers ever cared about her well-being? Neither of them had bothered to reach out to her after Jason’s death, instead choosing to capitalize on the tragedy by sensationalizing it for their own personal financial gain. She could still recall the morning she woke up to find Jason’s autopsy printed in the Riverdale Register– how Clifford had tried to tear the paper out of her hands when she started shaking with anger, how she had to self-medicate with more pills than usual that day. No, the Coopers had never thought twice about her welfare. Not then, and certainly not now. </p><p>“Oh, enough,” she says through narrowed eyes, scoffing. “Tell me what it is you’re truly here for.”</p><p>Hal looks over to Alice who looks back at him like a deer caught in headlights. Truth be told, they could hardly blame Penelope for not trusting them. Given the way that everything had transpired between them in regards to Jason and Polly, and the bad blood between their families, it came as no surprise that she was mistrustful. </p><p>“Penelope, do you remember when I came to visit you at the hospital the day after the fire?” Alice asks, disregarding the venom in her tone. If she were to take the bait, she would never get what she came here for. </p><p>Penelope shifts in her seat. “Vaguely,” she mutters, without making eye contact. </p><p>“Well I meant what I said,” Alice insists. “We’re family now, and if there’s anything you need, anything at all, we’d be more than happy to help.” She offers Penelope a smile before considering her next words. “I had actually been hoping to speak with you directly at the hospital, but when I got there you were asleep and as soon as you woke up, Cheryl practically shoved me out the door…” </p><p>Hal grimaces. Subtlety was never Alice’s strong suit.</p><p>Penelope’s expression is unreadable and, for a moment, Alice wonders if she’s crossed a line by bringing Cheryl up. She remembers how defensive the Blossom woman got over her daughter having been “harrassed” by the sheriff during Jason’s murder invesitagtion at the Taste of Riverdale. </p><p>“I appreciate the two of you reaching out,” Penelope finally says, though her eyes are trained solely on Alice. “But as of right now we are managing just fine ourselves.” </p><p>Alice doesn’t allow her disappointment to show through. “That’s wonderful,” she grins, with an exaggerated tilt of the head. She had been hoping Penelope would at least elaborate on the situation that had occured at the hospital the other day. Alice knew there was more to the story than she was letting on. She could still recall the desperation in Penelope’s eyes as soon as she regained consciousness and saw her talking to Cheryl. Something wasn’t right.</p><p>“Is that all then?” Penelope asks. Her eyes are vacant but her words lack their usual harshness. Perhaps they had succeeded in chipping away at her defenses after all.</p><p>“That’s all,” Hal affirms, before Alice has the chance to argue. There was no use in pursuing the matter further. Penelope had never been the type to bend with enough badgering— the harder they pushed, the less likely she would be to accept the hand they’d extended. Hal knew this. Knew <i>her</i>. After all, it had been them who’d been so close all those years ago.</p><p>He stands up, indicating that they’re ready to leave.</p><p>His sudden interest in contributing to the conversation throws Alice for a loop, but she follows his lead without question and instead makes a mental note to pick his brains about it later.</p><p>Penelope escorts them to the foyer without a word. The pain medication she had taken earlier was beginning to wear off and all she wanted to do was retreat to her bedroom and sleep. Besides, she needed time to mull over Alice’s words and determine whether or not they were genuine before she considered accepting the woman’s help. She had been ready to, the other day at the hospital, but only because she had been so desperate. The truth was that, as much as she wanted to believe that Alice’s intentions were pure, she didn’t have much reason to. Their relationship had always been fraught with hostility, even back in high school. And while she appreciated the visit, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a self-serving reason for it. </p><p>Never one to bother with formalities when it came to the Blossoms, Hal makes a beeline towards the car and disappears into the driver’s seat as soon as she opens the door to let them out. Alice kicks herself for having strung him along. All he’d done was make her look bad. </p><p>“Are you sure you’re okay?” she tries one last time, turning on her heel in the doorway. </p><p>Penelope’s grip tightens around the glass doorknob. “I’m fine,” she assures, biting back the pain that was quickly starting to spread throughout her body. Part of her wanted to yell at Alice to get gone and leave her alone; part of her almost begged her to stay. </p><p>“Alright,” Alice nods, defeated. “Call me if you need anything.”</p><p>Penelope offers a stiff nod of her own before shutting the door behind her and allowing her back to rest up against it. She knew that she was right to turn the Coopers away, and yet, somewhere in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t help but shake the feeling that she’d made a terrible mistake.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reviews are much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Riverdale Register— Tuesday, October 24st, 2017</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Penelope relents and accepts Alice's help.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As promised, things are finally starting to get interesting.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No one is more surprised than Alice when Penelope calls three days later asking for help with the groceries. Something about being in too much pain to leave the house and Cheryl not getting home until late because of cheer practice. The reasons didn’t matter.</p><p>“Of course,” Alice replies, beaming into her phone. “Just send me a list of everything you need and I’ll be at Thistle House in an hour.”</p><p>Hal looks up from his desk and meets her eyes. From the look in them you would assume that they had just won the lottery. </p><p>“I have to go,” she says excitedly, once she’s hung up the phone. She gathers up her coat and purse and plants a quick kiss on her husband’s cheek. “I’ll see you at home.” </p><p>
  <i>THISTLE HOUSE— Tuesday, October 24st, 2017</i>
</p><p>An hour later, Alice finds herself unpacking groceries in the unusually bright Thistle House kitchen. Apart from the white tile countertops and white cabinets, there is a great deal of natural light streaming in from the windows, which is a pleasant surprise. <i>At least one corner of this cottage isn’t so dismal</i>, she thinks to herself, though she has a sneaking suspicion it’s one of the less frequented rooms in the house. Something about it felt so...untouched. Almost as if it wasn’t truly lived in. </p><p>“You didn’t specify whether or not you wanted the fruits to be organic,” she remarks, laying down a pack of strawberries on the counter. “So I went with the organic ones.”</p><p>Penelope takes a sip of the chamomile tea Alice insisted on brewing her upon arrival. At no point had it crossed her mind to specify between organic and nonorganic fruits. This was the first time in her life she had ever made a grocery list, and, if she was being honest, she had no idea what she had been eating for the past thirty-five years. The staff at Thornhill had always been the ones to take care of all of the grocery shopping; the most she had ever done was put in a special request for something. </p><p>“That’s fine,” she replies, feeling rather stupid. </p><p>Alice slides a carton of eggs into the near-empty fridge. “I was surprised to hear back from you,” she says honestly, making her way back over to where she’d laid out the groceries. “You seemed to have a handle on things when Hal and I came by the other day. What changed?”</p><p>“I suppose I underestimated the burden of having to run an entire household without any help,” Penelope admits. “If it weren’t for the pain I’m sure I could manage, but…”</p><p>“How bad is it?”</p><p>“Worse than anything I’ve ever experienced.” Words could not describe the amount of pain she was in. Her first thought when she initially regained consciousness at the hospital was that she wished they had just left her to perish, but that was a conversation for another time.</p><p>“I wouldn’t wish burns like that on my worst enemy.” </p><p>Penelope holds back a smirk and wonders if the irony of Alice’s words is lost on her. </p><p>“How are you holding up, with everything else?” the blonde asks, diligently arranging some items in the pantry so that there’s a system in place for what goes on each shelf. “The new lodgings and such, I mean.”</p><p>Penelope rolls her eyes. Not so much at Alice, but rather the situation itself. “It’s a considerably smaller house,” she says flatly. “Though it does have its charm. It’s having to look after Nana Rose Blossom that’s been proving itself to be...an adjustment.” </p><p>Alice whips her head around so quickly that she nearly sees stars. “She <i>lives</i> here?” </p><p>“Unfortunately,” Penelope mutters into her teacup. </p><p>Every bone in Alice’s body aches to inquire further about this strange, new piece of information (not once during either of her visits had she come across the old woman), but she ultimately decides against it. Despite the strides she and Penelope were making, it was still much too early to pry. </p><p>“It is a charming place,” she agrees instead. “I noticed the last time I was here that you have a greenhouse.”</p><p>“You mean the conservatory?” It’s more of a correction than it is a question. “That was always my favorite part of the house as a child.” </p><p>Alice thinks she almost sounds nostalgic. “Oh? Did you visit Thistle House often when you were younger?” She finishes up in the pantry and walks back over to where the grocery bags are, folding them up into tiny squares so that they don’t take up too much space in the garbage bin. </p><p>“We would come every Sunday morning for breakfast.” Thistle House had been home to Mr. Blossom’s parents then, and she, Clifford, and Claudius would be sent over to spend time with them religiously until they were no longer around.</p><p>The reminder that Penelope and Clifford grew up in the same family turns Alice’s stomach, but she continues to fold the paper bags as if her mind hasn’t wandered anywhere unpleasant. “How lovely. Speaking of which, what do you have planned for dinner tonight?” It’s the only way she can think to change the conversation. </p><p>Penelope’s hazel eyes glance up at Alice over the rim of her teacup. It was embarrassing to admit, but the truth was that she and Cheryl had been surviving off of takeout the past few days. Not so much because she was physically incapable of cooking, but because, well...she had no idea how to. At the Sisters of Quiet Mercy, it was the older girls who had been tasked with working in the kitchen. Penelope’s chores had only ever involved cleaning and making beds. And once she was adopted by the Blossoms, the need to learn how to cook was rendered unnecessary given the family’s employment of, and dependence on, house staff. Now that there was no help to rely on, Penelope found herself having to adapt. The fact that she was incapacitated from the fire certainly didn’t help. She knew it was only a matter of time before she had to learn her way around a kitchen, but as of right now she did not have it in her to figure it out.</p><p>“I’ll have Cheryl pick something up for us,” she says dismissively. </p><p>Alice pauses to look her up and down. “You don’t know how to cook, do you?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow.</p><p>Penelope straightens her posture defensively. She does not appreciate the hint of amusement in Alice’s tone. “Whether I do or don’t, I am hardly in any condition to be tinkering with a stove.”</p><p>Alice lets out a laugh— she could have guessed. “In that case, why don’t I prepare something you can heat up when it’s time for dinner later.”</p><p>Penelope ought to turn Alice down for poking fun at her, but the thought of eating a home-cooked meal after enduring three excruciating days of half-cold takeout (to say nothing of the foul hospital food she had been forced to consume before that) is much too enticing to pass up.</p><p>“If you insist,” she shrugs, taking another sip of her tea. Sometimes it was worth it to forsake one’s pride. </p><p><i>Still walking around with that stick up her ass</i>, Alice thinks to herself, though she’s more amused than anything. “How does a lemon herb chicken with a side of roasted potatoes sound?” </p><p>As soon as the words escape her mouth, Penelope perks up and Alice can’t help but feel a little smug. Say what they wanted, there was one thing no one could ever resist from Alice and that was her cooking. The perks of having been taken under the wing of an aggressively domestic mother-in-law. </p><p>“It’ll do.” </p><p>Alice offers her a self-satisfied smirk. “Perfect,” she chirps. Then, in a more playful tone, “Of course, I could always just make you an egg salad sandwich...I remember how fond of those you were back in high school.”</p><p>“Very funny,” Penelope scoffs.</p><p>Alice can’t help but laugh at her own sense of humor. “Do you still eat those? You were practically famous for carrying them in your lunchbox since kindergarten.” </p><p>“I didn’t even attend Riverdale Elementary in kindergarten,” Penelope counters, rolling her eyes. “And yes, I do. They’re a perfectly good sandwich.” </p><p>It’s the least pretentious thing Alice has ever heard Penelope say and she can’t resist a smile. Who would have guessed that she would have such a good time gracing the redhead’s company?</p><p>“I’ve always been much more of a pb&amp;j girl myself,” she quips before walking over to the kitchen sink to wash her hands.</p><p>Penelope observes her quietly. Alice had always been such a strange character. Penelope had never felt she had a particularly good read on her. Unlike most of the people in town, she was entirely unpredictable— both back then as a teenager and even now as an adult. Perhaps that was what Hal found so attractive about her...the inability to predict what the next moment with her held. Penelope herself couldn’t relate. Uncertainty had always scared her. A part of her wonders if Clifford felt the same way.</p><p>“Alright, all clean,” Alice remarks as she finishes drying her hands on a towel hanging over the oven. “Are you going to help or would you prefer to just watch and learn for now?”</p><p>Penelope looks back at her, dumbfounded.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” she assures, resting a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go anywhere near the stove.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reviews are much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Thistle House— Friday, October 27st, 2017</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hal has an epiphany.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Don't mind the excessive food descriptions. They're part of the package when it comes to Hanelope.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Having been standing at the front door to Thistle House going on three minutes now, Hal is just about ready to get back in his car and drive home when Penelope finally answers. </p><p>“Sorry,” she says, catching her breath. “Nana Blossom needed to make use of the water closet.”</p><p>She opens the door all the way so as to let him in and he follows suit. It feels strange, coming here again without Alice. It was actually she who was supposed to drop by with lunch and assist with the laundry, but a last-minute development regarding one of the stories for tomorrow’s paper had kept her tied up at the office.</p><p><i>All you have to do is pick up a lunch order from Pop’s and toss some clothes in the washer</i>, she’d told him. There had been no use in arguing with her.</p><p>He follows Penelope into the smaller dining area in front of the kitchen and sets down the bags of food on the circular dining table. White tablecloth...risky. Good thing neither of the bags seemed to hold anything greasy in them that might seep through to the bottom.</p><p>“I was expecting to see Alice,” Penelope tells him in an indiscernible tone as she takes a seat and motions for him to do the same. </p><p>Hal obliges, albeit uncomfortably. His game plan coming into all of this had been to offer to get started on the laundry while Penelope took her lunch alone. No such luck.</p><p>“She got held up at work,” he explains half-heartedly.</p><p>Penelope looks disappointed. An uncomfortable silence falls between them and Hal realizes that she’s not going to unpack the pickup herself. If it weren’t for the fact that she was sitting right across from him he would roll his eyes so far back into his head that he’d go blind. </p><p>Reluctantly, he rolls up his sleeves and reaches in. “Alright, so we have one cobb salad...no bacon or tomatoes, dressing <i>and</i> cheese on the side, and a strawberry milkshake with a cherry on top.”</p><p>“What’s in the other bag?” she asks, peering over.</p><p>Hal falters. “I figure that was supposed to be Alice’s lunch.” Penelope looks at him expectantly. “Guess I may as well not let it go to waste...” He reaches into the bag and pulls out a pesto chicken sandwich along with what he can only assume to be a root beer soda. A quick sip from the straw confirms his suspicions. <i>Sigh</i>.</p><p>He takes a bite of the sandwich and watches as Penelope carefully drizzles some dressing over her salad in a zig-zag motion. She appears to be very focused as she subsequently determines how much cheese she ought to sprinkle in. Hal remembers how picky she used to be when they were younger and wonders if she’s still as particular about her food. From the looks of it, it would appear she was.</p><p>“So how have you been getting along?” He asks, breaking the silence. It’s a question he already knows the answer to— Alice spares no detail when she recounts her visits to Thistle House to him— but it’s the polite thing to ask and the only thing he can think of to say, regardless.</p><p>Penelope waits until she’s finished swallowing her food before she answers him. “As well as I can be, I suppose,” she says quietly.</p><p>Hal offers her a nod. </p><p>“Thank you for asking.” She’s not entirely sure he genuinely cares to know, but she appreciates the formality nevertheless. It was the closest the two of them had come to having a civil exchange since Jason’s memorial. Although, even then, they had hardly spoken. Sometimes it was hard to believe they were ever close. These days, it seemed she was having an easier go of getting along with Alice, which was both a terrifying concept and admittedly amusing thought.</p><p>She stabs at a piece of lettuce and egg with her fork and allows herself to enjoy the freshness. It had been months since she’d found herself having an appetite, but lately she could feel it beginning to return. Perhaps it was because Jason’s murder had finally been solved...or perhaps the home-cooked meals Alice had been routinely preparing for her since Tuesday had something to do with it.</p><p>“Are you still good on leftovers?” Hal asks before taking another bite of his sandwich. Alice had instructed him to inquire as much in case they were almost out. </p><p>Penelope eyes him suspiciously. It was as if he could read her mind.</p><p>“Yes, I believe there’s still some roast beef and mashed potatoes sitting in the icebox from Wednesday’s dinner.” She’s about to take another stab at her salad when a thought crosses her mind. “You know...it actually reminded me of the one your mother used to make when we were children.” Penelope’s heart can’t help but ache as she recalls memories of dinners spent with the Cooper family during her youth. She had always seen them as the quintessential American family. The kind of family Norman Rockwell himself would have been inspired to paint. The same kind of family she had spent every day at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy wishing would adopt her.</p><p>A strange feeling grows in the pit of Hal’s stomach. Sadness? Nostalgia? It was hard to say. </p><p>“It’s the same recipe,” he tells her as he finishes washing down the taste of pesto with root beer. </p><p>Penelope looks up at him with melancholy eyes. Suddenly she feels like crying. “Oh,” she chokes out, forcing a smile (though it comes out looking much more like a grimace). “No wonder it seemed so familiar.”</p><p>Despite her valiant effort to brush it off, Hal can tell she’s upset. Nine years worth of friendship meant that he could recognize the signs. “That was the first time you ever tried roast beef, wasn’t it?” he asks, thinking on his feet. “When you came over for dinner that one time? I remember my mom announcing what we were having and you asking me what it was. Said you’d never heard of it before. Then when she set it on the table you remarked that it was very pink.” </p><p>A smile tugs at Penelope’s lips, “I’d forgotten about that.” It was sweet to think that he still remembered little details about her.</p><p>“So did I,” Hal laughs. “You know, my mom passed down most of her recipes to Alice when we were married, so if you ever want any of them you can always ask. I’m sure Alice wouldn’t mind.”</p><p>“That’s very kind.” She reaches out for the strawberry milkshake she’s neglected until now and takes a generous sip. “Mmm,” she moans. It was still nice and cold— the whipped cream entirely intact. </p><p>“That good, huh?”</p><p>Penelope licks her lips, “I haven’t had one of these in ages.” She picks up the cherry by the stem and delicately bites off the fruit. The dollop of whipped cream at the bottom gives it a sweet taste.</p><p>“Can you still tie the stems?” </p><p>“Of course,” she replies dismissively. “But you interrupted my moment so I won’t be demonstrating.”</p><p>Hal shakes his head in amusement. It’s the first time in a long time that he catches a glimpse of the girl he once knew. </p><p>“When Polly was living with us as Thornhill I used to deliver milkshakes to her on the daily.” Whether or not the Coopers believed it, her intentions with the girl had never been nefarious. The announcement that Polly was pregnant had come as a shock, sure, but ultimately Penelope had been very pleased with the news. It meant that a part of Jason would continue to live on— that she hadn’t lost him entirely. She wanted desperately to be a part of her grandbabies’ lives, which was why it was so devastating when Alice and Hal barged into her home that one night and ripped Polly away from her.</p><p>Hal furrows his brow, “Did you really?”</p><p>“I did,” Penelope insists, taking another sip of her milkshake. “You can’t imagine how difficult it was to resist the urge to order one for myself every time.”</p><p>“I never resist,” he returns, appropriately taking another bite of his sandwich. She had always admired his ability to indulge.</p><p>“How is Polly, by the way?” she ventures. Hal stiffens at the question and, immediately, Penelope regrets asking it. He’s scanning her face for something now but she’s not sure what. Insincerity? An underlying motive? It hurt to think that his mistrust of her family had, at some point, equally extended to her. Had she done something to deserve it or was it simply just the principle of the matter? She wishes she could ask him. Sometimes she felt he hated her. Like really, truly hated her. He never outright said it, but he didn’t have to. The looks he was constantly throwing her way did all the talking for him. She glances down at her salad, no longer feeling hungry. </p><p>“She’s doing alright,” he finally answers, and as soon as he does Penelope feels like she can finally breathe easy again. She hadn’t realized it, but she’d been holding in a breath the entire time. “Still not ready to go back to school, but she’s hanging in there. She, uh...she was actually worried sick when she heard about the fire.” Penelope’s ears perk up. “Didn’t want her babies to lose another grandparent.”</p><p>This time she can’t help it— her eyes well up with tears and she tries to blink them away to no avail.</p><p>“She wants you at the hospital when they’re born,” he continues. “Something about starting over and honoring Jason.”</p><p>Hearing that just makes Penelope want to tear up all the more. Starting over was exactly what she’d suggested at breakfast the morning the papers announced that FP Jones had been arrested for Jason’s murder. Just one day before her entire world came crumbling down. Thinking about it now, the whole thing felt surreal. Like a bad fever dream.</p><p>“I’d like that,” she manages, as she wipes away at the corners of her eyes. </p><p>Before Hal can offer her any reassurance, a knocking sound from above breaks up their conversation. He glances upward to see a bit of dust fall to the floor.</p><p>“Ugh,” Penelope groans, the warmth in her heart suddenly being replaced with irritation. “What now?”</p><p>Hal looks back at her with utter confusion. </p><p>“Would you excuse me for a minute? I have to go see what she wants.”</p><p><i>Ah, Nana</i>. “Sure, take your time. I’m almost done here anyway. If you want I can go ahead and get started with the laundry while you check up on her.”</p><p>Penelope nods, getting up from her chair. “That would be wonderful, thank you. The laundry room is down the hallway from the foyer, second door to the right.”</p><p>“Got it.”</p><p>“I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”</p><p>As Hal watches Penelope make her way up the stairs, he can’t help but wonder what it must feel like to have to look after someone but not have anyone to look after you. Penelope was the one who had nearly died in a fire two weeks ago, yet she was the one putting in all the work to make sure that the house wasn’t falling apart and that everything was running smoothly. From what Alice had told him, Cheryl was never around to lend a helping hand, and none of the extended Blossom family members had bothered to come calling on them. A bit of anger builds up in the pit of his stomach and he brushes it away. No use in thinking about that now.</p><p>He makes his way down the hall to the laundry room and switches on the light. It’s standing there amongst the piles of dirty clothing that he realizes Alice had been right all along. To hell with the rest of the Blossoms, <i>they</i> were family now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reviews are much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Alice's Station Wagon— Monday, November 13th, 2017</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alice drives Penelope to a healer's office in Greendale and finally confronts her about that day at the hospital.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is longer than any one-shot I've ever written.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Are you nervous?” Alice asks, keeping her eyes on the road as she gradually brings the station wagon to a halt.</p>
<p>Penelope glances up at the red light, then back down at her hands. “No,” she shakes her head, tracing one of the scars on her hand with her finger. “I just hope this actually works.” </p>
<p>“Well the doctor did sound optimistic during your consultation.”</p>
<p>“Healer,” Penelope corrects.</p>
<p>“What does that even mean, ‘healer’?” Alice puts the last word in air quotes. “This is the 21st century.” </p>
<p>The light turns green and she accelerates, passing the Greendale sign not even a minute later.</p>
<p>A few days ago Penelope had called her about a burn rehabilitation specialist she’d found that was located in the strange, neighboring town— something about being afraid that her wounds weren’t healing fast enough and wanting to do ‘everything in [her] power’ to ensure that there wouldn’t be any permanent scarring. Alice had tried to reason with her by reminding her that it hadn’t even been a month since the fire, but thought better than to add that scars were to be expected when one was dealing with third-degree burns. Still, Penelope had insisted, so Alice agreed to accompany her to a consultation in order to make sure she wasn’t walking into a less than legitimate situation. </p>
<p>The meeting went as well as it could have, with Alice thoroughly interrogating the “healer” about his credentials and demanding that he provide testimonials from other patients with similar burn injuries. There were extended conversations about different treatment options, procedures, and the likelihood of seeing results. Penelope had agreed to take some time to think everything over, but Alice knew her mind was made up the second they walked out of the office. Today marked her first appointment, which Alice had demanded she drive her to. The past few weeks had seen her develop some rather protective instincts where the redhead was concerned, and she wanted to make sure that everything went smoothly and was handled properly. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” she asks, concerned, when she catches Penelope tugging at her sleeve in her peripheral. </p>
<p>“Nothing.”</p>
<p>Alice turns her head, giving her a knowing look.</p>
<p>“I’m just sick of looking at them, is all,” Penelope replies, keeping the sleeve of her sweater pulled over her knuckles. She pauses to catch her reflection in the window and frowns, “I’m afraid they won’t ever go away.”</p>
<p>“Penelope, it’s barely been a month since the fire. You suffered third-degree burns; those are going to take time to heal. Besides, you look fine. There’s nothing to be insecure about.” </p>
<p>The words do little to comfort her, but it’s the sentiment that counts. </p>
<p>Part of her wants to admit what a grave emotional toll her altered appearance has taken on her since she returned home from the hospital. How she can no longer recognize the person she sees when she looks in the mirror and how much she hates the reflection staring back at her. Alice would probably tell her that she shouldn’t be spending so much time standing in front of a mirror in the first place, if all it was accomplishing was to make her feel worse than she already did. It was difficult enough dealing with the physical pain, why go ahead and add on to it by fixating on the temporary? At least, Penelope hoped it would be temporary. The truth was that she had never been particularly adept at seeing the good in any situation. It was clinging to the negative that had always felt like home. Perhaps that made her a defeatist. </p>
<p>“I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me in the past few weeks,” she says instead. “You and Hal. I know I haven’t been particularly vocal about my gratitude, but...it’s there.” She fumbles with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater. “I was hesitant to accept it at first, when you both came by to offer your help. I thought, surely, it was all some sort of ruse, though for what I wasn’t entirely sure.” A brief pause. “I’ve never been so grateful to be proven wrong.”</p>
<p>A smile tugs at Alice’s lips. It’s the most vulnerable Penelope has ever been with her and she quietly tucks the admission away into a milestones folder in her head. The sweet moment is short-lived, however, when a thought suddenly crosses her mind. She argues with herself over whether or not to bring it up for a bit, knowing it will likely turn Penelope’s mood on its head. Still, the timing feels right, and the words are long overdue. </p>
<p>“It’s the least I can do.” She takes a deep breath and momentarily closes her eyes. “Penelope, I...I want to apologize.”</p>
<p>The redhead shifts her gaze from the road to the woman sitting next to her, her brow furrowed in confusion.</p>
<p>“I never should have printed Jason’s autopsy in the Riverdale Register. The way I went about covering the news of his murder...I remember Betty accusing me of sensationalizing his death one night and, at the time, I didn’t see it, or didn’t <i>care</i> to see it, because I was so upset about the situation with Polly and the bad blood between our families kept me from wanting to empathize, but...she was right. She was right and I wish I could take it all back. I mean, if that had been my child…” her voice cracks. “Well, let’s just say I would have slapped me too.”</p>
<p>A stop sign appears up ahead and she gently brings her foot down on the brakes.</p>
<p>“I was wrong to go up to you at the Taste of Riverdale,” she continues, turning to face Penelope once the car comes to a proper halt. “You deserved better.”</p>
<p>Tears well up in Penelope’s eyes and she does her best to blink them away. Not now...she didn’t want to do this now. Not when she already had so much on her mind. “Jason deserved better,” she manages to say softly. It’s all she can muster while the memories of last summer come flooding back to her. Every time someone brought up her son’s death, her mind wandered back to that awful Fourth of July morning and she felt as though she were reliving it all over again. The disappearance, the search for Jason’s body in Sweetwater River, the empty casket burial, the funeral, the sleepless nights, the discovery of Jason’s washed up body with the bullet wound on his forehead, the murder investigation, the memorial, the…</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Alice nods, pulling her out of her thoughts. “He did. And I hope I can make it up to him somehow, by making it up to you.” Her tone is as sincere as her words. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” Penelope sniffles. She feels silly for crying and wipes away at the tears threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. “You know, so few people reached out to me after Jason’s death.”</p>
<p>Alice recalls how half the town had gathered around to watch those men pull Jason’s body out of Sweetwater River the morning after homecoming. What should have been a private family moment was made into a public spectacle and it was only just now dawning on her how callous they had all been throughout the entire ordeal. </p>
<p>“This town can be cruel,” she acknowledges, including herself in the statement. </p>
<p>Penelope scoffs but it comes out sounding more like a muffled sob. <i>You’re telling me</i>, she thinks. </p>
<p>They pass some strip malls and the Paramount theater and she can tell that they must be getting close. </p>
<p>“You don’t have to go through anything alone anymore if you don’t want to, though,” Alice reminds her. “Like I said at the hospital, we’re family now.” </p>
<p>Penelope shifts in her seat and offers her a simple nod in response. She still worries she’s going to wake up one day to find that this was all simply a dream— some sort of idyllic fantasy she had conjured up in her head while she was still asleep, under the influence of painkillers. Or perhaps she hadn’t made it out of the fire after all and this was merely the eternity she had been subjected to. Either one of those scenarios seemed more plausible than the idea that this was her new reality. Things like this...well, they just didn’t happen to her. </p>
<p>“Speaking of which,” Alice draws out. “What really happened that day, Penelope?” </p>
<p>“What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean when I went into your room at the hospital I found you asleep, so I tried talking to Cheryl instead. And at one point, while I was speaking to her, you woke up and seemed to be crying out for help. I said as much, but Cheryl insisted you were simply tired and needed your rest. And then afterward she practically threw me out of the room.”</p>
<p>Penelope bites her lip.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, it just…” she searches for the proper words, “the whole thing felt rather haunting, to be perfectly honest.”</p>
<p>Penelope pulls so hard on the loose thread she’d been mindlessly looping around her finger that it accidentally breaks off. </p>
<p>“I mean I know she’s your daughter and all, but…you looked terrified.” </p>
<p>A good part of that day was a blur to her now, but if there was one thing Penelope could still recall clearly it was the way she felt having to gasp for air as Cheryl slowly cut off her oxygen supply while standing over her bed and threatening her. </p>
<p>“It was just a bad time, is all,” she lies. “I was probably delirious.” </p>
<p>“I have a different theory,” Alice counters. She realizes she might be pushing her luck, but it’s now or never. </p>
<p>“Oh?” Penelope tries to sound nonplussed. “And what might that theory be?” Her voice doesn’t betray her but the stiffening of her posture does. Luckily, Alice’s eyes are trained on the road. They pass a diner and suddenly she regrets skipping out on breakfast. </p>
<p>“That the Thornhill fire was no accident.”</p>
<p>Penelope’s heart stops.</p>
<p>The silence that follows is the only confirmation Alice needs. </p>
<p>“H-how did you—?”</p>
<p>“Your daughter is a terrible liar. After her strange behavior at the hospital, I talked to Betty and she told me the story Cheryl fed her and Kevin. A breeze knocking over a lit candle, catching the curtains? Sounds a <i>little</i> too convenient if you ask me. And a little too 19th century, even for your family.” </p>
<p>“That’s the part of the story you didn’t believe?” Penelope questions, a hint of dry amusement in her voice. “Not the part where I heroically run headlong into the fire to save my daughter?” </p>
<p>Alice shakes her head, “No, you love your children. That was the only believable detail.” </p>
<p>It’s not the response Penelope anticipates and she struggles to think of what to say. </p>
<p>“So what really happened, Pen?” Alice presses in a tone that’s unusually gentle for her. It’s the first time she tries out the nickname Hal has had for the redhead since elementary school and she likes the way it sounds rolling off of her tongue. </p>
<p>Penelope watches the passing houses from her window and sighs. It was difficult to think about that night without wishing she could go back and do it all over again. The smell of smoke and gasoline was still vivid in her mind and the feeling of the flames burning through her clothes equally so. She reaches up to gingerly run her fingers over the burnt skin on the side of her neck and winces at the texture. She had brought this on herself. </p>
<p>“When I got home from the Jubilee the house was still standing. I called out for Cheryl from the foyer because I wanted to speak to her. She had taken off somewhere that afternoon and I assumed I would meet her at the Jubilee, but she never showed. I suppose I didn’t think too much of it at the time, but in retrospect I should have known that something wasn’t right,” she closes her eyes and wonders what she could have done differently. “She didn’t respond the first time I called out to her so I called out to her again, and that’s when I followed her voice into the parlor. There was such a pungent smell pervading the air...I remember asking her what it was. That’s when she turned around and told me it was gasoline— the only way we could truly start over and purify ourselves. I couldn’t even get a word in before she threw down the candelabra she had in her hand. The rug caught fire instantly. And just like that, the only home we had ever known went up in flames.”</p>
<p>Alice attempts to absorb all of the information that was just thrown at her in order to piece together a coherent narrative. “What does that mean, ‘purify yourselves’?” she asks, disturbed. She hadn’t known what to expect when Penelope started telling her story, but it certainly wasn’t this. For all of the fiction that the town liked to conjure about the Blossom family, nothing was ever quite so horrifying as the truth. </p>
<p>“Hell if I know,” Penelope rolls her eyes, shaking off some of the feelings from that dreadful night.</p>
<p>Alice is tempted to remark that it sounds like Cheryl ought to be committed to a mental institution, but ultimately decides that she’s pushed the envelope far enough for one morning. The girl clearly had some issues she needed to work on, but far be it from her to be the one to say it. She knew better than anyone how defensive Penelope could get when it came to her children.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re safe in that house?” she asks alternatively, hoping that the question is phrased neutrally enough that Penelope won’t be offended at the implication. The GPS on her phone indicates that they should be arriving at the doctor’s office any minute now. </p>
<p>“As safe as one can possibly be living under the same roof as a senile old witch.”</p>
<p>Alice sideyes her questioningly.</p>
<p>“That was a joke,” Penelope clarifies. “I’m fine.” She knows what Alice was trying to get at with her question, but she was hardly in any immediate danger as far as Cheryl was concerned. Sure, her daughter liked to talk up a big game, but at the end of the day it’s not like she would ever actually bring her any physical harm. Penelope knew she ought to make things right with her somehow, at the very least because they were now forced to share a considerably smaller space, but she was at a loss as to how to go about it. It had been her every intention to make amends with Cheryl as soon as she got home from the Jubilee, and well, look how that had turned out. Sometimes she wondered if they were just meant to continue living in this cycle forever. Perhaps that was the true Blossom curse.</p>
<p>Alice makes a left turn and the GPS indicates that they’ve arrived at their destination.</p>
<p>“Perfect,” she says to herself, scanning the parking lot for an empty space. “We’re about a half hour early, but it’s always better to be early than to be late. Hopefully they won’t keep us waiting too long.”</p>
<p>Penelope quickly checks her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the hair framing her face so that it covers as much of her burns as possible.</p>
<p>Alice pulls into a parking spot in the corner. “You ready?” she asks. She can tell Penelope is nervous.</p>
<p>“Mhm.”</p>
<p>“Hey, look at me,” she says firmly, “you’re going to do great. The treatment is going to work.” She reaches over to the passenger seat and gives Penelope’s shoulder a light squeeze.  </p>
<p>Penelope feels herself melt under Alice’s touch and manages a nod.</p>
<p>“Alright, now come on.” </p>
<p>The two of them step out of the car and head towards the entrance of the office, Alice linking her arm through Penelope’s for additional emotional support. The weather is rather brisk this morning and the closeness brings both of them a bit of extra warmth.</p>
<p>“If they do keep us waiting,” Penelope muses, “there’s a bit more to the story that I have left to share.”</p>
<p>Alice cocks an eyebrow, her interest suddenly piqued. “Regarding the Thornhill fire?”</p>
<p>The redhead nods, “It involves the family portrait.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reviews are much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe— Sunday, December 3rd, 2017</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Penelope meets Hal at Pop's to discuss her current financial situation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>When I was writing this chapter I was worried it was beginning to drag and then when I finally read it back in its entirety it felt completely rushed. Story of my life.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A quarter till one on a bright Sunday afternoon and the snow is falling lightly over the cars parked in front of Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe. Penelope and Hal sit on opposite sides of a corner booth by the window where a recently hired server takes their respective orders. He scribbles: <i>1. grilled chicken w/a side of steamed vegetables, 2. meatloaf w/mashed potatoes (+ gravy)</i> onto his notepad before politely dismissing himself, leaving them to resume their conversation.</p><p>“So anyway,” Penelope pauses to take a sip of her hot chocolate, “they scheduled me for 9:30 in the morning on the 7th.”</p><p>“The 7th? Wow, that’s this Thursday.”</p><p>“I know,” she replies, her hazel eyes widening in recognition of the miracle. “The sooner the better.”</p><p>Hal nods in agreement, “I’m guessing you’re not nervous, then?”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. It is my first surgery after all.”</p><p>“Right, right.”</p><p>Three weeks had passed since Penelope’s first appointment with the healer in Greendale and, since then, the scars that had once so noticeably covered her face and neck were no longer visible. They had faded entirely, save a faint, curved line on the right side of her nose that could easily be covered with makeup. She had undergone two more treatments following the first and, although they were ultimately unable to make the scars on her arm disappear completely, they had helped a great deal and Penelope was pleased with the results. She still struggled with her appearance, taking as many measures as possible to avoid letting others see her scars (thank God for winter), but her confidence was slowly building itself back up again and she no longer felt like crying whenever she caught a piece of her reflection in the mirror.</p><p>“I had hoped I wouldn’t have to go through with the surgery at all since most of my injuries healed so well, but…” she swishes the hot chocolate around in her mug. “Apparently some of the scars formed contractures, so they have to be treated as soon as possible. Otherwise the movement in my arm will be restricted.”</p><p>Hal scans her face, still in awe of the fact that her burns had healed to the point where they were no longer visible. “Will you need physical therapy?”</p><p>Penelope shrugs, “That remains to be seen. But the doctor did say the nerve damage was minimal, so I do have that going for me.”</p><p>“Sounds promising,” Hal says, reaching for his cup of coffee. Normally he would have opted for a double chocolate malt, but lately the weather had been a little too unforgiving for a drink made out of ice cream. </p><p>“It is,” Penelope agrees. “I only wish the timing had been better. The recovery can range anywhere from three to eight weeks, and with Christmas coming right around the corner…” her voice trails off as she remembers the very reason she invited Hal to meet her for lunch in the first place. </p><p>Hal’s blue eyes look at her expectantly over the rim of his coffee up. </p><p>She clears her throat, “Speaking of Christmas, I was hoping you could give me some advice.”</p><p>“Advice?”</p><p>“Yes, financial advice,” she clarifies. “You see, we uh...oh dear, how do I put this without sounding too gauche? We have no money.”</p><p>Hal raises an eyebrow. “No money as in whatever you have left doesn’t measure up to Blossom standards, or…?” </p><p>Penelope lets out a laugh Hal can’t tell is real or fake. “No, Harold. No money as in we do not have a single cent left to our name and, come the end of this month, I don’t have a clue as to how I’m going to be able to afford a Christmas tree and presents, much less pay off all of these increasing medical bills.”</p><p>She takes another sip of her hot chocolate and Hal can’t help but feel like she’s being a little too casual about all of this, despite the concern in her words. He scans the busy diner and tries to think of what to say, knowing full well he’s the wrong person to turn to when it comes to asking for any kind of advice regarding finances.</p><p>“Well, you’ll have to get a job,” he tells her, knowing just how stupid he sounds.</p><p>Penelope nods like he hasn’t just stated something obvious. “That did occur to me,” she says solemnly, drawing absentminded swirls on the table with her finger. </p><p>Sometimes Hal can’t help but feel like only half of her consciousness is in the present.</p><p>“I’m just not sure what I would be qualified for,” she admits. “Perhaps you could help me figure it out? Or at least tell me about any listings that have been posted in the paper recently.”</p><p>“Oh,” Hal leans back in his seat, relaxing a litte. “Well, I mean, you graduated from Highsmith College, didn’t you? That must mean you have a degree?” </p><p>“A degree in romantic literature and botany, yes...two fields with <i>very</i> demanding job markets, especially in a small town like Riverdale.”</p><p>Hal’s formerly neutral expression turns into one of those pained, close-lipped smiles.</p><p>“Trust me, I know. I would have majored in chemistry, but I was never supposed to have a career.”</p><p>Attending Highsmith College had been a tradition for the women of the Blossom family for decades. It was the only reason Penelope’s parents had allowed her to pursue a higher education, despite the fact that her sole purpose in life (as meticulously laid out by them), from the moment she married Clifford until the day that she died, was to be supportive of him in all his endeavors, to bear his heirs, and to manage his household. That was, after all, what they had bought her for. The degree was merely a formality— something she could mention in conversation. Nothing less, nothing more.</p><p>Hal feels sorry for her. Penelope had always been bright, always taken her studies seriously. It was a pity to think that all of those talents had gone to waste— all because she had never had the courage to stand up to her own parents. </p><p>“Alright, well, we’ll just have to work with what we have, then,” he says, trying to lift the mood. “What are some of your skills?”</p><p>Penelope stares at him blankly, “My what?”</p><p>“Your skills,” he repeats. “Like the skills you list on a resume.”</p><p>“I have to make a resume?”</p><p>Hal buries his face in his hands and sighs. Suddenly he wishes the coffee in his cup was a glass of scotch. “Yes, Pen, you’re going to have to make a resume.”</p><p>“Well I don’t have any skills to put on there,” she scoffs.</p><p>“Yes you do, everyone does. There are jobs where even just being a friendly person can be considered a skill.” </p><p>“Oh,” Penelope grimaces, “I don’t have that.” </p><p>“Come on, just start listing things you’re good at. They can be anything.”</p><p>“Fine,” Penelope returns, straightening her posture. She takes a generous sip of hot chocolate and dramatically clears her throat. “I know everything there is to know about maple syrup. I can keep my herbs alive through even the harshest of winters. I have been told many times over, by people close to me, that I have a penchant for storytelling. I can manage a household with a very large staff. I still remember nearly every River Vixen cheer from high school…”</p><p>Hal waits for her to continue but she leaves it at that and just sits there, staring at him from across the booth as if she’s ready to discuss her options. </p><p>“Is that it?” he asks. </p><p>Penelope stomps her foot so hard against the tile of the diner that for a moment she worries she might have broken the heel of her boot. “You see?” she says, crossing her arms. “I told you I didn’t have any skills.”</p><p>“You need to give me skills I can actually work with, Pen. What am I supposed to do with ‘still remembers most high school cheers’?” </p><p>“You said they could be anything,” she defends. </p><p>Hal fixes her with a look, “Those are all too specific. Give me something broader.” </p><p>“Something broader?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Alright, you want something broader? I spent forty-three years of my life following other people’s orders and twenty-five years of my life living in my husband’s shadow. The only skills I have are putting everyone else’s desires before my own and convincingly faking an orgasm. Is that broad enough for you?”</p><p>“Um, ma’am, sorry to interrupt, but...grilled chicken with a side of steamed vegetables?” </p><p>Penelope’s heart nearly stops when their server appears awkwardly in her peripheral with their food. </p><p>“Yes, that’s mine,” she confirms, mortified. </p><p>He sets down both of their plates and all but runs back behind the counter without so much as an ‘enjoy’.</p><p>Hal throws his head back and laughs.</p><p>“That wasn’t funny,” she says, cheeks still flush from embarrassment. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, trying to regain his composure. “Where were we?” </p><p>“Nowhere. Forget I said anything.”</p><p>Hal nudges her shoe with his under the table. “Hey, come on. Don’t do that. Just because you can’t think of anything right now doesn’t mean you don’t have something valuable to offer. I know you, you’re a smart woman. Always have been. It’ll come to you.”</p><p>Penelope presses her lips together and tries to fight the stinging sensation in her eyes. “And if it doesn’t?”</p><p>“It will,” Hal assures her. “Trust me. If it helps, I’ll even let you know about any job listings before we print them in the paper.” He slices himself a piece of meatloaf and savors the warmth. Nice, thick cut with just the right amount of glaze on top— exactly how he liked it.</p><p>Penelope watches him as he chews his food and absentmindedly begins to pick at a piece of broccoli with her fork. “Thank you,” she says quietly, hoping he’s right.</p><p>If she didn’t figure something out soon, she didn’t know what she was going to do. She still had yet to apprise Cheryl of their financial situation and, the longer she could put that off, the better. The last thing she needed during these trying times was for her daughter to be screaming in her ear about how their newfound poverty was going to affect the status of her respectability at school. She had bigger things to worry about and, quite frankly, she did not care what anyone had to say about her family’s unceremonious fall from grace. The town’s opinion no longer concerned her.</p><p>“By the way,” Hal starts up, washing down a generous spoonful of gravied mashed potatoes with a sip of water. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” </p><p>It doesn’t sound serious, but Penelope’s first instinct is always to worry. “What is it?” she asks, tightening the grip on her mug.</p><p>“Well, you know how Polly’s due date is approaching...”</p><p>Her stomach drops, “Are the babies alright?”</p><p>“The babies are fine,” he says calmly, “this is about their names.”</p><p>Penelope breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh. Well, what about them? Has Polly decided on any yet?” She stabs a piece of chicken with her fork and takes a bite. Her appetite was finally returning.</p><p>“Well, that’s the thing. See, she’d like to name the boy after Jason, but she wanted to make sure she had your approval first.”</p><p>Every part of Penelope feels overcome with emotion. “Of course she has my approval,” she beams. “I was hoping she would name him after Jason.” Tears form in her eyes, but they’re happy ones. She can’t recall the last time she felt so excited about something. </p><p>Hal offers her a smile, “I told her she had nothing to worry about. She’s going to be so relieved.”</p><p>“She could have called and asked me herself,” Penelope laughs. “I don’t bite.”</p><p>“I think she’s still intimidated by you.”</p><p>“After all of those strawberry milkshakes I hand-delivered to her while she was staying with us at Thornhill? My, my...I suppose that’s something we’ll have to work on.” She finishes sipping the last of her hot chocolate which, at this point, is more lukewarm than hot. “What about the girl? Has she settled on a name for her yet?”</p><p>Hal makes sure to swallow his food before answering. “Not yet,” he tells her, “She’s still considering her options.” There were a few that she had narrowed it down to, but it seemed like every day that she was rearranging the order in which she prefered them. </p><p>“Funny,” Penelope smiles, “I think I had all of my names picked out at three months.” This had made it all the more devastating when one of the babies didn’t end up making it. Still, it had spared her the heartache of having to come up with a name for him after the fact, which she had ultimately been grateful for.</p><p>“Yeah, we picked ours out pretty early on, too,” Hal muses. “But Polly’s always been a bit indecisive.” He remembers what a hard time she used to have picking between ice cream flavors whenever he would take her and Betty out to the ice cream shoppe after their ballet classes. There had been days where she had ended up opting for a strawberry and vanilla swirl, unable to make up her mind between the two flavors.</p><p>“She’s a sweet girl,” Penelope remarks, piercing some vegetables and a piece of chicken with her fork. “To think the last time I saw her was when you barged into my home at three in the morning and asked me what was wrong with my family.”</p><p>Hal makes a face at her, “That was an unpleasant night for all of us.”</p><p>“And now here we are,” she gestures dramatically. “Ironic, isn’t it?”</p><p>Hal can’t argue with that. The past six weeks had seen more positive developments between their families than there had been in literal decades. The two of them were in the process of rekindling their friendship, Alice had taken to Penelope as if she were her older sister (despite Penelope being six months older), and the three of them were no longer arguing over Polly and her babies. It almost seemed crazy to think that the event Penelope had just referred to had only taken place a little over a month ago. Since then, Clifford had passed, Thornhill had gone up in flames, and their families had come together like never before. </p><p>“Does it ever seem strange to you?” she asks, getting serious again.</p><p>“Does what seem strange?”</p><p>“That we went from being best friends to strangers to whatever it is we are now,” she says somewhat sadly. </p><p>Hal looks down at his plate. He pokes at a piece of meatloaf with his fork but doesn’t pick it up. “Yeah, a little,” he admits. </p><p>Penelope frowns. “I wish you would have talked to me when Alice left. Not so you could tell me where she went, but so that I could have understood where you were coming from a little better.” She bites her lip as she considers her next words. “It really stung when you pulled away from me.”</p><p>“I know,” he says guiltily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to talk about what was going on without mentioning Alice, so I shut everyone out and just didn’t talk to anyone at all.” He watches Penelope fidget with a button on her coat and assumes she must be trying to avoid eye contact. “But that wasn’t fair to you. You were my best friend— if there was anyone I should have been honest with, it was you.”</p><p>Penelope nods, taking in his words, “I would have appreciated that.” She stops fiddling with her coat and finally looks up to meet his eyes. “But we were children then. I don’t hold it against you.”</p><p>“Does that mean you forgive me?”</p><p>“I do,” she says earnestly. “And I think it’s wonderful that you and Alice are looking to seek Charles out now. I hope the search is successful.” </p><p>Alice had opened up to her about the pregnancy not too long ago while they were both sitting around reminiscing about high school. Penelope hadn’t been drinking— the painkillers she was on forbade it— but Alice had insisted on opening a bottle of wine and, by her second glass, she was already tipsy. As soon as the subject of senior year came up, it all came spilling out. The accidental pregnancy, the argument with Hal at homecoming, her stint at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy...Penelope hadn’t known what to say, but she sat there and listened to Alice go on nevertheless. Even provided a shoulder for her to cry on when she eventually broke down and admitted to feeling like she’d made a huge mistake by giving up their baby. That’s when Alice told her that she and Hal had recently been considering tracking Charles down. Penelope knew in that moment that Alice needed her support, so, like a good friend, she had given it to her.</p><p>“You don’t think he’ll be upset and feel like we’re disrupting his life?” Hal’s tone is full of concern. “Or that he’ll hate us for abandoning him?”</p><p>“Well there’s no way I could possibly know that,” Penelope says honestly. “Not all orphans are made alike. But if it’s any comfort, when I was at the Sisters most of us spoke about wanting to meet our biological parents. It’s human nature to be curious. As for being afraid he’ll begrudge you for abandoning him, I assure you that doesn’t happen as often as often as the media would have you believe.”</p><p>Hal chews on a piece of meatloaf as he lets her words sink in. “What about you?”</p><p>“What about me?”</p><p>He leans forward, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “How would you feel if your biological parents turned up at your door one of these days? Would you be happy to see them?” </p><p>Penelope knows she should have an answer to his question, but, if she was being honest, it had been years since she entertained the idea of meeting her birth parents. Even when she had thought about it, the fantasies had always involved her seeking <i>them</i> out, not the other way around. “I...I’m not sure. I suppose that would depend on who they were and what they had to say.”</p><p>“Is that why you’ve never gone looking for them?” he asks softly. “Because you’re afraid of what you’ll find?”</p><p>Penelope gives a stiff nod, “I don’t want to open a door without knowing what awaits on the other side of it.” She stabs at a couple of vegetables on her plate. “Especially with my luck.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Hal relents. He realizes the same could be said in regards to his and Alice’s situation. In making the choice to search for Charles, they were, essentially, taking that very risk. </p><p>“There are so many worst case scenarios,” Penelope continues, pausing to take a sip from her water. “But you and Alice are high school sweethearts— married, with two beautiful daughters. The pregnancy simply happened at the wrong time, is all. I think Charles would be relieved to know his story. I certainly would be.”</p><p>“Thanks, Pen,” Hal half-smiles, allowing himself to be comforted by her words. “I appreciate it.”</p><p>When their server comes around with the bill fifteen minutes later, Hal insists on paying for the entire meal himself. <i>Consider it a thank you for giving Polly your blessing</i>, he tells Penelope. She disapproves of the gesture, but her breeding doesn’t allow for her to argue with him about it. It just wasn’t proper decorum— especially in front of the waiter. </p><p>They decide to get going not long afterward, with Hal holding the door for Penelope on the way out. The fact that he’s retained his chivalrous sensibilities all these years later does not go unnoticed by her.</p><p>She steps out into the cold, winter air and immediately wraps her arms around herself for added warmth. Perhaps she should have asked for a hot chocolate to-go. </p><p>“I need to get going, but thank you for meeting me here,” she says, reaching into her purse for the keys to Rosey Red. “I’m glad we were able to talk.”</p><p>“Any time,” Hal assures her. “And, hey, I really am sorry about senior year. I hope one of these days we can move past ‘whatever it is we are now’ and just go back to being friends again.”</p><p>A smile tugs at Penelope’s lips, “I’d like that.”</p><p>They say their goodbyes and finally part ways, each of them getting into their respective cars and heading home. Penelope knows she should be wracking her brain for potential jobs and coming up with a list of skills to slap on her resume, but the entire drive to Thistle House all she can think about is the fact that Hal apologized. She had given up hope years ago that they would ever be friends again, and, now, here they were— well on their way to building something good again. Hell, now that they were older and wiser maybe it would even be better this time.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reviews are much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Thistle House— Thursday, December 21st, 2017</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alice and Hal help Penelope decorate Thistle House for Christmas.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There are lots of subtle references to canon in this one. See if you can catch them all. Also, I didn't proof read this after I finished writing it so apologies in advance.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The attic at Thistle House, situated comfortably in the upstairs hallway leading to the master bedroom (which Penelope had unrepentantly taken for herself when she and Cheryl moved in), is just like the rest of the old cottage— somber and still-aired, only just a touch more frozen in time.</p><p>Among the dust-coated wooden chests, the heaps of obscure board games, and the decayed-looking scattered toys that had, no doubt, once belonged to great-grandpappy Blossom, Alice Cooper sits cross-legged, surrounded by boxes of ornaments.</p><p>“These are actually quite nice,” she says, dangling a gold reindeer in front of her eyes, “I was expecting….well, I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.” She places the ornament back in its box and sets it aside in approval.</p><p>“Oh, the wilted poinsettias and headless santas are in the other box,” Penelope pipes up, rummaging through an old wooden chest for some garland.</p><p>Alice arches an eyebrow, “The fact that you’re making jokes tells me you’re feeling much better than when I last came to see you.” She picks up a red and gold ball ornament and twirls it in front of her, checking for cracks.</p><p>“I took my strongest painkillers with some peppermint tea this morning.”</p><p>“Festive.”</p><p>Penelope pulls out several strings of garland from the chest along with some stockings and stocking hooks— the last of which are adorned with gold reindeer, to match the ornaments. Laying everything out in front of her, a distressed look comes over her face.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Jason’s stocking,” she replies, “it’s not here.”</p><p>Alice makes her way over to where Penelope is sitting and starts digging through the chest to ensure the stocking isn’t just buried under some old Christmas junk. She finds string lights, some cheaper looking garland than the one Penelope picked out, and a whole bunch of tinsel, but no stocking.</p><p>“Well it has to be here somewhere,” she says, wiping her brow. The musty attic air did not agree with her knit sweater. “Maybe it’s in one of the other chests.”</p><p>Penelope scans the room, “I suppose.”</p><p>“Why don’t we switch places? You’re still recovering from surgery; you shouldn’t be poking around in these things anyway. I’ll look for the stocking while you pick out the rest of the ornaments for the tree.”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>It had been exactly two weeks since Penelope’s reconstructive surgery. The surgery hadn’t been anything major, and everything had gone well, but that hadn’t stopped Alice from refusing to leave her side in the days that followed. She waited on the redhead hand and foot, cooking her meals and offering to run errands for her despite Penelope never once asking. There were times when Penelope thought to herself that Alice’s incessant need to nurture was downright clinical, but she couldn’t bring herself to complain. She had grown embarrassingly comfortable having her own personal Florence Nightingale.</p><p>“This attic needs a serious spring cleaning,” Alice says picking up a raggedy, old jack in the box with a chipped nose and discolored face. It’s a creepy little thing and, suddenly, Great Grandpappy Blossom’s old Trojan horse doesn’t seem so bad in comparison. “Most of this stuff looks like it’s been around since World War I.”</p><p>“No one clings to the past with two hands longer or harder than a Blossom.”</p><p>“I’ll say.” Alice brushes aside some wooden blocks with faded letters on them, revealing a pair of embroidered initials in gold thread: <em>JB</em>. “Oh! I think I found—” she refrains from finishing the sentence when she realizes her mistake.</p><p>Penelope whips her head around excitedly, only to find that it isn’t Jason’s missing Christmas stocking Alice has found. Her blood runs cold.</p><p>“Where did you get that?” she asks gravely.</p><p>If Alice notes a change in her tone, she doesn’t let on. “It was buried in the chest along with all of those other toys,” she responds, holding out the sailor doll in front of her. Oddly enough, it didn’t look nearly half as old as anything else she had found in there. Its delicately-painted, porcelain face was still intact with nary a chip nor scratch to be found, and there were no loose threads on its neatly tailored clothes. Alice wonders if it was custom-made. It feels heavy in her hands, and something about it seems deeply personal.</p><p>“Put it back.”</p><p>This time, Alice picks up on the shift. Penelope’s voice sounds unusually shaky and dark, and she appears almost frozen in place as she stares at the doll in Alice’s hands— her face having lost all of its natural color.</p><p>“Was this Jason’s?” she asks softly, unable to help herself.</p><p>A single tear rolls down Penelope’s face. “Please, Alice....”</p><p>The sound of heavy footsteps coming up the creaky, attic ladder pulls both women from their thoughts, and just a few seconds later Hal pops his head in.</p><p>“The tree lights are up,” he beams proudly.</p><p>. . . . .</p><p>“The lights look wonderful, Hal, thank you.”</p><p>Hal stands next to Penelope in front of the tree, hands on his hips, as he pridefully admires his work. “Any time,” he smiles. “I’ve actually never seen a Christmas tree with just red lights before.”</p><p>“Let me guess,” she says, “the ones you have at home are white.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he nods. “That predictable, huh?” The Cooper Christmas tree this year was just like the rest of their house— understated and simple, with gold and white ornaments for that timeless look Alice cherished so much.</p><p>“Well, Alice doesn’t strike me as the multicolor type.”</p><p>“She’s not,” Hal laughs. “I try to convince her every year, but she won’t have it. She says they look cheap and haphazard.”</p><p>Penelope walks over to where the Christmas stockings are laid out on the table. “Sounds like Alice,” she says somewhat absentmindedly.</p><p>Hal follows closely behind her, “Sorry to hear about Jason’s stocking.” A part of him can’t help but feel like, if anyone’s had to have gone missing, it should’ve been Rose’s or Cheryl’s. At least they were still around to see this Christmas.</p><p>“It’s alright,” Penelope shrugs, looking down at the three she recovered from the attic. “There’s nothing to put in it anyway.”</p><p>A brief silence befalls them.</p><p>“What about Clifford’s?” Hal asks tentatively. He knows he shouldn’t pry, but his curiosity always seemed to get the better of him wherever the Blossom family was concerned. That, and being married to Alice for the past twenty years had done nothing to help his sense of restraint.</p><p>Penelope takes Cheryl’s stocking in her hands and gingerly traces over the embroidered initials with her finger. <em>CB</em>— the same as Clifford’s. “It didn’t feel right,” she says quietly. “Not without Jason’s.”</p><p>Hal nods. “The first one’s always the hardest,” he says recalling the first Christmas he spent after his father passed. “But Alice and I are here for you if you need anything.”</p><p>“Thank you, Hal.”</p><p>A few minutes later, Alice emerges from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolates. “One Baileys hot chocolate for you,” she says handing a glass mug to Hal, “one for me,” she says setting another one down on the coffee table, “and a virgin hot chocolate for our recovering patient,” she smiles, handing the last mug over to Penelope.</p><p>“Why do I get a nonalcoholic beverage?”</p><p>“Because,” Alice chirps in a tone far too motherly for Penelope’s taste, “you took pain relievers this morning.”</p><p>Penelope rolls her eyes but sulkily takes a sip out of the hot chocolate anyway. It’s suspiciously good.</p><p>“I see the stockings are up,” Alice smiles, scanning the mantle which has been covered in garland and poinsettias and adorned with the gold reindeer hooks from which the stockings are hanging. “I approve.”</p><p>“Hal did most of the work. I simply told him how I wanted everything,” Penelope admits.</p><p>“Good,” Alice says sharply. “You’re supposed to be resting your arm.”</p><p>“I feel fine, Alice. I’ve been resting for weeks.”</p><p>“That’s not what Hal tells me,” the blonde retorts, taking an accusatory tone.</p><p>Hal shoots Penelope a guilty look.</p><p>“I would hardly call engaging in amorous congress with Fred Andrews’ foreman ‘resting’.”</p><p>“Alice—”</p><p>“Cheryl insisted on a Christmas tree and I didn’t have the heart to tell her we couldn’t afford one, so I had to get creative,” Penelope says defensively. “Besides, Vic was a perfect gentleman. I had a very good time.”</p><p>“Bedding eligible bachelors is <em>not</em> what the doctor ordered!”</p><p>“Vic isn’t a bachelor, he’s a divorcee,” Penelope corrects before taking another sip of her hot chocolate.</p><p>“We should really start decorating the tree if we want to make it back home in time for dinner,” Hal interjects.</p><p>“That’s beside the point!” Alice returns, ignoring her husband. “We would have been happy to provide you with a Christmas tree should you have asked us for one. Isn’t that right, Hal?”</p><p>Penelope swirls her hot chocolate casually, “And I appreciate that, Alice, but I cannot rely on your charity forever. I have to start thinking long-term.”</p><p>Hal takes a generous, <em>generous</em> sip of his spiked hot chocolate. Sharing the Vic story with Alice had been a mistake.</p><p>“There is nothing ‘long-term’ about becoming a woman of the night,” Alice insists, making air quotes when she says the words long-term. “Prostitution is not a career.”</p><p>“It’s the oldest profession in the world,” Penelope counters, licking some whipped cream off her finger. “Honestly, Alice, and you call me old-fashioned…”</p><p>Alice shoots Hal an exasperated look, but the look he shoots back at her begs her to stop.</p><p>“Fine,” she resigns, “but just know, as your second cousin-in-law, I think you could do better. I’ve seen <em>Moulin Rouge</em> and <em>Les Mis</em>, and I know how this ends for you.” She picks up her hot chocolate and takes a disapproving sip.</p><p>“I will do my best not to succumb to consumption,” Penelope says seriously. “But Alice…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Clutch those pearls any tighter and, one day, they just might break.”</p><p>. . . . .</p><p>After the last ornament has been hung on the tree, Hal ties a giant red and gold bow at the very top of it. Penelope claims she’s had enough of stars and angels. Scattered throughout are poinsettias, boughs of holly, tartan red-and-green ribbons tied into neat bows, red acrylic gem ornaments, gold reindeer, and classic red balls with a variety of gold glitter patterns. It’s a far cry from the sort of tree Alice would have in her own home, but even she can admit it’s spectacularly…<em>Blossom</em>.</p><p>“How does it look?” Hal asks, climbing down from the ladder.</p><p>“Remarkable,” Penelope marvels. She had been fully prepared to celebrate this Christmas without a tree, but now, standing here, taking it all in, she was grateful to have ultimately changed her mind.</p><p>“The red lights work well with the rest of the room,” Hal observes. “And the tree looks great. Everything really ties together.”</p><p>“It does, doesn’t it? I think Cheryl will be pleased.”</p><p>“She better be,” Alice scoffs, “after all the hard work we just put in.” She plops herself down on the couch and reaches for the tray of ready-to-bake Christmas cookies Hal insisted she buy on the drive over. Endearing as the snowman on them were, they didn’t hold a candle to her own homemade holiday confections.</p><p>“I don’t know that I’ve ever tried those before,” Penelope says, taking a seat next to Alice.</p><p>“What? Not even as a kid?” Hal asks, helping himself to three of them. He sits in the chair across from them and Alice notes how childlike he looks feeding himself holiday-themed Pilsbury cookies in his knit sweater.</p><p>“Not unless your mother ever offered me some when I was over.”</p><p>Hal shakes his head, “She wouldn’t have. Gertrude and I always had to beg her to buy them.”</p><p>“How is Gertrude? I haven’t seen her in years.” Penelope had almost forgotten about Hal’s older sister. As a child she had been very intimidated by her, though why that was she could no longer recall. All she remembered was that Gertrude had been very good friends with Hermione’s older sister, Terry, and that there had always been rumors about her….preferences. She had never mentioned these rumors to Hal, of course, but she had often wondered if they’d ever gotten back to him.</p><p>“She’s good, moved to L.A. right after college. Betty actually stayed with her this summer when she was doing her internship. Work keeps her pretty busy so she doesn’t visit much. She’s a book editor.”</p><p>“Ah,” Penelope nods. So no husband or kids. “Well that’s good to hear.”</p><p>“Of course the one person in your family who always approved of me took off to the other side of the country before we even graduated high school,” Alice scoffs. She takes a bite of her cookie. “His mother used to hate me.”</p><p>“Hate is a little strong.”</p><p>“Mrs. Cooper?” Penelope cracks a smile. “She was so sweet.”</p><p>“To you, I’m sure. You were every parent’s wet dream. I, on the other hand…”</p><p>“You were just a little rough around the edges,” Hal cuts in. “She came around.”</p><p>Penelope wonders if the irony of Alice’s words is lost on her. <em>Every parent’s wet dream</em>...well, certainly not her own. She reaches for a cookie and takes the tiniest bite in case it doesn’t agree with her. Surprisingly, it does.</p><p>“Isn’t it crazy to think about how long ago all of that was?” Alice asks, her words dripping with nostalgia. “Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that I was writing for the Blue and Gold and watching Fred try and make up his mind between Hermione and Mary. Sitting in the bleachers with my pen and notepad while FP led the Bulldogs to victory at a Friday night football game, getting chastised by you for not having a hall pass and thinking what a snotty little goody two-shoes you were...”</p><p>“Charming.”</p><p>“And then I look around and I see Polly, about to have her own babies, and Betty, so close to graduating high school…and it all feels like a lifetime ago.”</p><p>“I miss it,” Penelope admits. “It wasn’t perfect, but…”</p><p>“It was ours,” Hal finishes.</p><p>Alice nods. “Now Fred’s divorced and Mary’s gone and FP’s just another Southside statistic,” her eyes fixate on the floor as she absentmindedly tugs at a loose thread on her sweater. “I just hope our children do better.”</p><p>Penelope notes how Alice conveniently leaves her out of that last woeful observation. An exercise in propriety, surely. God knows, out of all of their classmates, there was no one whose life had crumbled as swiftly and magnificently as hers had.</p><p>“Well we’re not dead yet,” she reminds the blonde. “I, for one, am still going to try and make something of myself. I did not survive the fire at Thornhill so that I could sit around and waste away in this sorry house.”</p><p>Hal offers her a smile.</p><p>“Well, that’s a relief,” Alice quips, reverting back to her usual spirited tone, “otherwise all of our efforts to get you back on your feet would be for naught.”</p><p>Penelope gives her a knowing look. “Our children will be fine,” she says, and she has to believe that. “Besides, not everything has changed since high school.”</p><p>Alice looks at her expectantly.</p><p>“You’re still a pain in the ass.”</p><p>. . . . .</p><p>Hal throws back his head and lets out a hearty laugh, “You did <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“He said we needed to leave out some cookies for Santa so I told him that Santa wasn’t real,” Penelope responds, holding back a laugh. “It was innocent.”</p><p>“There is nothing innocent about spoiling Christmas for your siblings,” he says playfully.</p><p>“<em>Older</em> siblings, and I assumed he knew. He ran to tell Claudius afterward and Claudius was so upset. Rose was furious.”</p><p>“What a mess,” Hal grins, shaking his head. He watches as Alice endeavors to hang up the giant wreath that she and Penelope found in the attic on the front door.</p><p>Alice adjusts the position of the wreath for the dozenth time and takes a step back. “I’m trying to picture skinny, little eight-year old you with your Mary Janes and freckles bluntly breaking the news to Clifford that this jolly, old man in a red-and-white suit doesn’t <em>actually</em> slide down the Thornhill chimney every year to leave him a dozen monogrammed socks and a pony because, as it turns out, he doesn’t, in fact, exist, and I have to say, it is very amusing.”</p><p>“How was I supposed to know he believed in that sort of thing?” Penelope defends. “At the Sisters, we always knew it was just a story. I didn’t think anyone <em>actually</em> bought into it. It was like...the Loch Ness Monster or something.”</p><p>“The Loch Ness Monster?” Hal repeats, the amusement evident in his tone. “You thought Santa was a cryptid?”</p><p>Alice lets out a laugh as she continues fidgeting with the position of the wreath.</p><p>“Laugh all you want, but if someone had told me as a child that a man who could allegedly see me when I was sleeping, and knew when I was awake, was going to slide down the chimney of my house once a year and help himself to a plate of my baked goods, I would have been terrified.”</p><p>“Well, when you put it like <em>that</em>.”</p><p>“I love coming to visit you, I really do,” Alice proclaims. “Hearing you talk is like being on a pitch-black rollercoaster. I never know what’s going to happen next, but I’m never disappointed.”</p><p>“Glad I can delight you,” Penelope deadpans, though her heart inevitably swells at the thought of Alice genuinely enjoying her company. It’s not the most conventional, or even the warmest compliment, and a part of her wishes that she could be recognized for something other than what others frequently perceived to be an inherent, unshakeable strangeness, but at least it was something. Perhaps, with time, Alice would grow to appreciate her for reasons independent of whatever unidentifiable defect seemed to separate her from other people. And perhaps, someday, others would follow. But, until then, she would take whatever it was she could get and hold onto it with both hands.</p><p>“Okay, I think I’ve finally got it,” Alice says, standing back to observe the wreath again. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Even then, Thistle House’s exterior left much to be desired in the way of holiday cheer. Luckily, the same could not be said for its interior— thanks in no small part to her creative vision and Hal’s ability to execute it.</p><p>“So what are your plans for Christmas?” Hal asks, shooting an approving nod in Alice’s direction.</p><p>Penelope shrugs, “I found some discounted mini candy canes at the store yesterday. That’s as far as the money we have left will take us.” She can feel an itching pain beginning to spread in her arm, but she tries her best to block it out. The medication wasn’t supposed to wear off for another hour or so. “I’m going to tell Cheryl that we can’t afford to buy any gifts this year when she gets home. Hopefully all of the Christmas decorations will soften the blow.”</p><p>Alice’s self-satisfied smile melts into a frown, “What? You didn’t mention anything about not being able to afford any gifts…” her voice trails off as the wheels in her head begin to rapidly turn.</p><p>“Alice, we have no money.”</p><p>Hal looks at Alice, then at Penelope. Normally, he would consult with his wife before offering to do something that would ultimately also involve her, but seeing the dejected look on Penelope’s face, he can’t help himself. “Why don’t you and Cheryl come over for Christmas dinner?” he asks, knowing it's the right thing to do. Penelope’s eyes widen and he feels himself ache for her. “Polly’s been wanting to see you again, and I’m sure she and Betty would be happy to spend the holiday with family.”</p><p>Penelope looks over at Alice, searching for the right words. “That’s very kind, but I wouldn’t want to impose. I’m sure you’ve already made plans, and what with Nana Rose Blossom to consider…”</p><p>“Hal’s right, Penelope,” Alice interrupts. “We’d be happy to have you. And Cheryl, and even Nana Blossom if you want her to come along. We’re family; we should be celebrating together.”</p><p>Penelope looks over at Hal, who nods in agreement. “I don’t know what to say…”</p><p>“Say you’ll join us,” Alice pleads. “Everyone deserves to experience a Cooper family Christmas at least once in their lifetime.”</p><p>Penelope bites back a smile. “Alright,” she gives in. “I’ll talk to Cheryl about it.” Not even the growing pain in her arm can take this moment away from her. Alice had referred to them as family before— many times as of late even, but something about being invited to step into her world, her and Hal’s world, felt like a huge milestone. And for Hal to have been the one to extend the invitation...Hal, who she had been convinced had grown to resent her after their falling out in high school, well...it felt good. Really good. Almost as if, perhaps, they were finally starting to move closer towards the friendship they once had.</p><p>She’s not sure what compels her to do it, but suddenly she finds herself pulling Hal in for a hug. First Hal, and then Alice. “Thank you,” she says, finally letting the tears spill. “For everything.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reviews are much appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Reviews are much appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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